


Til you let the spectrum in.

by letosatie



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, First Kiss, First Meetings, Improbable cuisine, Kid Fic, M/M, Solo Parenting, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-23 23:51:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1583984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letosatie/pseuds/letosatie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik is a solo dad who no longer has time for mutant rights, a social life or even a clean T-shirt some days.  Life is a whirl of picture books and mini packets of raisins.  And now his Mama is sick too.  </p><p>Then, he meets the world's most attractive telepath, but how is there room in his life for anything but the myriad of duties that already overwhelm him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Say my name.

**Author's Note:**

> Work title and chapter titles taken from Spectrum by Florence and the Machine.

“Ouchie,” says Lorna, plaintively, holding her wrist.

“Oh baby,” Erik tells her with sympathy, “climb up here.” She crawls in his lap and clings, chubby arms around his neck. Erik lets himself relax into the hug and Lorna relaxes also, head coming to rest on his shoulder, and stilling with her cheek smushed on his shirt. He ignores the looks he’s getting, the grown man on the floor, food in his hair and a stain on his T-shirt.

“Ouchie,” she says again.

“Ssshh, baby. It’s ok,” he repeats, running his hand down her wee spine.

Wanda and Pietro have a ‘Where’s Wally’ book flat on the floor and are leaning over it, peering intently. Erik can take this moment with his youngest. He rubs his cheek on her fuzzy green hair.

Some metal catches his attention, though he’s been half aware of all the metal in the crowd milling around him. Erik is seated on the carpet in the airport gate lounge, security screening still in his circle of awareness. He can predict the beeps before the machine goes off.

This is a mint green and white megaphone being affectionately petted by a bearded young man. The strong looking hands are hypnotic enough visually, but Erik can feel each caress on the bull horn metal as if it is on him.

There is revolutionary illustrated in the man’s long cargo shorts, in the hiking boots hanging off his camouflage Dakine backpack. Erik’s toe to top assessment snags on an incredible mouth, pink and fucking perfect. Erik cannot believe he is not touching that damn thing. 

Finally, he takes in the rest of the man’s face and curses; it shouldn’t be possible to be that adorable and that heat-provoking in one combination of features, but here is a face that is. The man is earnestly talking to another man, Erik catches, “... have to make them see...” above the airport crowd. 

“Papa, sing the song,” says Pietro, picking up Lorna’s little foot to play with the toes. 

Erik obligingly sings, “I caught a piggy, a big fat piggy, I ate that piggy with BBQ sauce.” Lorna giggles and kicks out at Pietro, but when he draws away, she shoves her foot back in his direction, imperiously.

“Again, Papa.”

Wanda is joining in now, playing with Erik’s flip flopped toes. They sing together, “I caught a piggy, a big fat piggy, I ate that piggy with BBQ sauce.” 

“Do you know the next part?” says a deep and British sounding voice.

Erik looks up into ridiculously blue eyes, as complex and vibrant as the attached voice; his breath catches until he vaguely recalls something about needing to breathe to live.

Wanda says, “No, mister, can you tell us?” Erik becomes aware his mouth is still open, shuts it with a chomp.

The blue eyes say to Pietro, “May I?” and offers to take Lorna’s foot.

Pietro hands it over.

“I caught a piggy, a big fat piggy, I ate that piggy with BBQ sauce,” sings the man, pretending to eat Lorna’s foot. Then, as he walks his fingers up her little leg and tubby belly, he sings, “I climbed the hill and walked to the orchard and I ate some apples for second course,” finishing by nibbling her chubby cheeks. Lorna squeals and clutches hunks of the man’s thick brown hair. Erik is intensely jealous of his tiny daughter. He attempts to detach her vice grip, but she has completely defected from Erik’s embrace to the stranger’s now, wrapping her entire body around him.

“I’m sorry,” Erik starts to say, hands out to receive her back, but the man interrupts.

“It’s fine. Unless it’s not with you.” 

Erik shakes his head. “No, I mean, yes. It’s fine.”

“I’m Charles, by the way.”

“Erik. This is Lorna.” He nods to the twins, “They’re Wanda and Pietro.”

Wanda says, “Hi.”

Pietro says, “Hey mister, don’t tell Omi we sang about eating piggies, ok?”

“Of course not,” reassures Charles. He raises a questioning eyebrow at Erik, who manages to nod to affirm Charles’ unvoiced question, distracted though he is by the authoritative eyebrow. Erik swallows. It’s possible he’ll do anything that eyebrow suggests.

“Has she manifested?” asks Charles, seated comfortably on the carpet and competently removing Lorna’s hands from his nose. Erik used to think freckles were childish, but the sun kisses splayed over Charles’ nose and cheeks are more like a map for Erik, flashing neon arrows indicating where to put his mouth.

He shakes himself. “No,” he says carefully.

“Just her hair so far,” says Charles, reverently.

It’s the reverence that gives Erik confidence. Charles must, at least, be mutant ally. He says, “Wanda and Pietro haven’t, but their mom is human so they may not.”

Charles looks like he wants to question something in that. He doesn’t though, asking instead, “What can you do?”

Erik warms and gently tightens Charles watch strap like a hug. Charles opens his eyes wide and smiles, thrilled. 

Emboldened, Erik sends a tentacle of power out to tug on Charles’ belt buckle. He thinks his smile might be a bit breathless and sappy but he can’t quite keep it cool. The answering look on Charles’ face is exquisite, delighted and wicked, well worth the risk Erik took given his gaydar has had no use over the last couple of years and could well have gone rusty or faulty in the interim.

Their plane is called and Erik has to gather the book, bags and children.

“Wanda, Pietro, hold my belt loops,” says Erik, reaching for Lorna. She screams, “No,” and climbs higher on Charles.

“I’ll take her, Erik, you’ve got enough going on.”

It’s on his tongue to refuse, Erik doesn’t need help, but Charles is smiling an inclusive sort of smile and, momentarily, Erik doesn’t feel overwhelmed and forgotten. 

“Ok,” he agrees. “Thanks.”

They are shuffling forward in the queue when Erik starts a bit and says, “Oh, can you do something too?” He is being carefully indistinct in public, letting Charles choose to reveal himself or not.

Charles says, “Yes, I’m mutant,” loudly enough for surrounding heads to turn. Then Erik feels a tickle in his head like a dog scratching at the door to get in. Charles is grinning.

Erik grins back, permission, and Charles says in his head ‘Good isn’t it.’

Erik starts laughing. “Do you know,” he asks, “what I was thinking about you earlier?”

“Just enough to be encouraged to come over,” Charles says. He smiles sheepishly.

They reach the front of the line and Erik hands over their boarding passes. The airline official says, “Thank you. Sir, please step over here and put your children’s shoes on.”

Erik looks at his twins’ feet. “Wanda, where are your shoes?”

She looks petrified. “I put them in the bag, papa.” 

“Which bag, love?”

“The green suitcase.”

“And Pietro’s?”

She nods her head. Erik feels very cold, followed by very hot. He says, “I think they are in the check in luggage.”

“Really?” says the woman, “We can’t let them on without shoes. It’s a safety policy.”

“I’m sorry,” Erik says, starting to panic, “I didn’t notice them take them off. I don’t remember reading that bit in the terms and conditions.”

“Oh, I don’t think we wrote it down. But we can’t let you on. It’s policy.”

Erik is pale and stony faced. “I understand that. I really need to get on.”

“What can we do?” Charles’ rich, commanding voice interjects.

“Umm, you could carry them on… only there are three of them.”

“We can do that,” says Charles and looks around for one of the young men he was talking to earlier, calling, “Sean.”

A red headed young man leaves his place in line and trots up to Charles, who says, “Will you carry Wanda here on to the plane? There’s a good chap.”

“Hi Wanda,” says Sean to Lorna, who chucks herself at him. He braces her safely against his ribs.

“Oh, that’s Lorna,” says Erik, “but whatever works.”

He picks up Wanda and Charles bends down to Pietro. “Ok to come up here ‘til we get on the plane?” he asks. Pietro nods shyly and climbs onto the indicated shoulders. 

The official takes Sean’s boarding pass and waves them through. 

“Thank you,” Charles tells her warmly, “Erik’s mother is very sick and it’s urgent, so we really appreciate you finding a solution for us.”

“Was I thinking loudly?” Erik asks him, as they walk through the jetway.

“Shouting really,” Charles replies. “And Erik, I’m sorry about your mother. It’s awful.”

Erik nods grimly. They find their seats, Sean and Charles helping to settle the family into their seats. Erik thanks them both and the flight attendant reminds them they’ll have to carry the children at the other end.

“Shall we switch seats with someone here so we can be closer in case of an emergency?” Instead of waiting for a reply, he says loudly, “Does anyone want to switch with Sean and I seated forward in the craft?”

An elder couple volunteer. The cabin attendant reminds them to stay in their original seats for take-off. Charles hands his ticket over and says, “But these are the right seats.”

The woman looks startled, “Sorry sir, you’re right. They are.”

Sean rolls his eyes. Erik wonders if he should find Charles’ behaviour disconcerting instead of downright hot. Charles sends the couple forward to his seats and plops himself into one of the vacant seats, conveniently located directly in front of Erik’s.

Erik talks his kids through the take-off, “The plane has to taxi to the end of the runway, now we are queuing, probably another plane is landing, now we are going to go really fast, tell me when you feel the front tyres come off the ground, that’s it, we’re in the air, we’ll see Omi soon.”

Erik has Lorna belted in on his knee; Wanda is peering out the window. Charles soon swaps his window seat with Pietro who’d been sulking in the aisle seat. Lorna droops on Erik’s knee and he spins her around so she is resting on his shoulder as her eyes drift closed. 

“Thanks again,” he says, head falling back on the head rest. “We have to get to Mama in the hospital soon. It would be…” He closes his eyes, “… unacceptable to miss her because of shoes.”

“Well, you’re welcome.” Charles puts his hand on Erik’s arm. He has to flip his hand over awkwardly because Erik is cuddling Lorna, but there is encouragement and an outrageous amount of desire in the touch. It hardly matters to Erik if it’s coming from Charles or him. There is a re-emergence back into the world in that touch, like the fog of a thousand kid’s lunches and wiped faces and mangled knock-knock jokes is lifting. Like the constant terror for his children and being too busy for his friends and not really trusting anyone else to make new ones isn’t the only way to look at the world. He can actually acknowledge what’s in front of him and, for the first time in a long time, he is being seen.

And Charles gets it all. 

“How’s the plane?” Charles asks. Erik looks at him. “It’s just that the pilot is supremely confident but the co-pilot is nervous and is going through the checklist in his head for the fourth time.”

Erik cocks his head, then grins, “It’s fine, now.”

Charles laughs and talks about the wrongful dismissal suit that was heard in the court near Erik, and how mutants from different parts of the country had come to support, conducting peaceful demonstrations. Two years ago, Erik would have been the leading voice.

Charles leans in a bit. “I know your face. I met you at a rally when I was at high school. You inspired me to come out as mutant and stand up for mutant kind.”

“Really?” says Erik, swinging quickly again into the sense of the bigger picture, the past and future picture, not narrowed down to lunch boxes and nit treatment. “That’s… Thanks.”

“I don’t see you round anymore.” It’s a question.

Erik’s caution submits to Charles’ apparent empathy. Still, he fidgets with the hem of Lorna’s shirt. “I used to be passionate for mutant causes and had no time for humans. Blunt, sorry, but true.”

Charles shrugs. He remembers.

“Lorna was born with this hair,” Erik worries a strand of green hair between his fingers. “I was so proud. Then, when Lorna was six months old and her mom had…”

“Gone back to her husband,” Charles fills in. Charles wouldn’t have had to read his head to know that, the mutant community wasn’t that large that gossip of that sort wouldn’t have reached all corners.

“Yes,” continues Erik, “The twins’ mother, Magda, turned up on my doorstep with them. They were four. I hadn’t even known they existed. Magda broke off the marriage when she saw me move a steel girder. I have no idea if she already knew she was pregnant at the time. She told me…” He lowers his voice, “She said…”

‘In my head, if you like,’ Charles invites him mentally.

Erik flashes him a grateful look and continues silently. ‘Magda dropped them off, with one packed bag between them, and said she didn’t want them if there was a chance they would be freaks like me.’ Erik clenches his fist, shame colours his neck. ‘I said, what if they’re human?’ Erik looks Charles straight in the eye. ‘I said that… about my own kids.’ He can’t read anything in Charles’ expression bar understanding; the sympathy feels itchy to Erik, like a stiff wool jersey.

‘That was what? A year ago?’ Charles prompts.

Erik nods. 

‘They didn’t speak English, German or French. She’d given them nothing of me, told them nothing. That night…’ Erik’s conscious words run out and he shoves a memory at Charles: Erik in bed with two tiny, trembling bodies curled up next to him, how he wanted to blanket them from the world and threaten anything that might hurt them, how worried he was, how he still worries, that he will be the thing that hurts his children most. How he reached out tentatively to Wanda, who was closest, and then Pietro, offered them a flank each to snuggle against and the surprising but undeniable and complete love the mutant father felt for them in the wake of his protective impulses, how it no longer mattered whether his children were like him or not. 

“Me too,” Charles says, and shares a memory of shielding his human friend while an irate man, the woman’s husband, comes at her with a closed fist. ‘My friend Moira,’ he narrates.

Wanda tugs at Erik’s jeans. “I’m hungry, Papa. Can I have some cookies?”

Erik digs in the baby bag and produces a ziplock bag of crackers. “I have crackers, Wandasaurus. Would you like them?”

“Yes, please.”

“What good manners,” says Charles, sounding very British. 

Wanda beams at him, then stands up in her chair to call to her brother. “Want some crackers, Pietroraptor?”

Charles eyes are very bright as the crackers are shared out. He asks, “What’s Lorna’s dinosaur name?”

Wanda rolls her eyes. “Lornadactyl.”

Charles laughs.

“Do you want a cracker?” Wanda asks Charles.

“Yes please.”

“What good manners, Charles,” Wanda says, and hands him her broken cracker.

“Wanda…” Erik starts, but Charles just crunches the cracker and grins at him.

Erik can’t suppress a tiny smile back.

“Where are you staying when you get there?” Charles asks him.

“At Mama’s. It’s not convenient for the hospital but it’s free.”

“Erik, I’m meaning to be helpful not creepy, but you could stay with me. I’ve plenty of room, I’m only a few stops away from the hospital and, between me and the other people who live there, there’s four on site babysitters so the kids wouldn’t have to be at the hospital all the time. Maybe… try it out. If you’re uncomfortable, you can go to your mum’s.”

“Let’s stay with Charles, Papa. Omi’s house smells like bananas.”

“Well Wandasaurus, I can’t promise my house doesn’t smell like socks.”

She wrinkles her nose and giggles, “My socks smell ok, but Papa’s are stinky.”

Erik is pretty sure accepting accommodation invitations from strangers on planes is the way horror films start, but not having to have the kids at the hospital all day is winning him over and it’s possible the way Charles’ thighs strain against the material of his cargo shorts is an influencing factor. He finds himself saying, “Yes,” and “Thanks.”

Lorna wakes up and starts wriggling. Erik reads her ‘The very hungry caterpillar’ six times in a row, after which, Lorna smiles very sweetly at Charles, shoves the book at him and says, “Chuz. A piwa?”

Erik groans. “You don’t have to.”

Charles says, “You act like I didn’t have a little sister.” He frowns, “And a step brother who could barely read.” He reads the book slowly and with dramatic emphasis, patiently letting Lorna poke her finger into each of the little cut outs and flapping the book open and closed on the last page to make the butterfly fly toward her. She squeals and bats at it. Charles makes it land on her foot. “Oh no Wanda. The butterfly is on Lorna’s…” He waits expectantly.

“Foot,” yells Wanda.

The book butterfly flaps up to the green hair. “Oh no Wanda, the butterfly is on Lorna’s…”

“Head,” yells Wanda.

This game occupies a full ten minutes.

“She’s five,” hisses Erik, as Charles repeats the butterfly has landed on daddy’s clavicle.

“You could also call it a collarbone,” Charles tells Wanda, refusing to acknowledge the reprimand and flapping the book in Erik’s face a couple of times.

“Collarbone,” Wanda mimics happily.

When the plane lands, Lorna insists on going with ‘Chuz’. Sean and Pietro have made friends, so Erik picks up all his bags and then Wanda and the unlikely group make their way into the terminal.

Some of Charles’ other companions are calling out to him, “The child accessory looks good on you, teach,” and “Damn you work fast, Chuck.”

Charles responds by putting his forehead against Lorna’s. “Apparently, you look good Lorna. Are you a good girl, Lornadactyl? I think you are.” 

Erik’s heart turns over deep inside him.

While waiting at the luggage carousal, Erik says again, “Thank you so much.”

Charles gets serious. “I preach mutant support all the time. If I ignored a mutant who personally could do with some, I’d be pretty hypocritical.” Then Erik hears in his head ‘Besides, you are spectacularly nice to look at and I like the way your mind feels.’

Erik swaggers a little on the way to the taxi stand.

They’ll have to take two taxis. Erik waits patiently while Charles farewells his fellow protestors. The children aren’t quite so patient. Erik catches Pietro by the scruff so he narrowly avoids hitting a young lady who is dragging a leopard print suitcase.

“He’s fast, dude,” comments Sean, the current eucalyptus tree trunk to Lorna’s koala impersonation.

“I know. I lose sight of him in the space of a second sometimes.”

“Maybe he teleports,” suggests Sean.

Erik raises his eyebrows, considering that. “No, because I usually put at least one metal item: zip or belt buckle or shoe lace loops on him so I can track him and he moves fast, but constantly, not here, then not, then there”

“You can feel metal,” Sean says, with the same reverence that Charles had, “that’s so cool.”

Erik smiles. “Yeah,” he says, “I can manipulate it too; heat it, bend it, move it. What can you do?”

“I’m audiokinetic. I used to bust up stuff by accident all the time until Charles taught me control. And he and another guy at the centre figured out how I can use my sonic scream to fly too.” Sean looks over to Charles, who is hugging a large hairy guy, “He’ll be a good man to know when these little guys manifest.”

“Good to know,” says Erik, but he is starting to wonder if Charles’ last name is Manson.

“It’s Xavier, actually,” says Charles, grinning. “What you’re seeing is merely the effect of my natural charm and irresistible ginger beard.”

Sean snorts.

Erik feels a touch silly for imagining Charles with followers. 

“Seriously though, Erik, if at any time you aren’t comfortable staying with us, I’ll understand.”

“Vice versa, then. It’s different with kids in the house.”

“Agreed,” says Charles, clapping him on the back.

At Charles’ place, which turns out to be Sean’s residence also, there is a bright blue girl wearing a sundress and bunny slippers, laying out a pizza picnic on the living room floor. She bounces up to Charles and hangs off his neck; he kisses her temple. Erik wants to punch her.

“This is my sister, Raven,” says Charles, sending Erik an indiscernible look, “Raven, this is Erik, Pietro, Wanda and Lorna.”

Raven takes the time to shake everyone’s hand and then says, “Who likes pizza?”

“Me,” Sean, Wanda and Pietro shout.

“Peasa,” says Lorna.

“I set up the guest room, Charles. Show Erik.” To Erik, Raven says, “I’ll feed ‘em while you settle in. Kids like me.”

‘Shapeshifter,’ Charles informs Erik telepathically as he leads him down a hall way, ‘If you clue me in on which Disney Princess they like, she can change for them.’

Erik emits a panicked wave of, ‘Disney?’

Charles looks pleased, “What do you read them then?”

“Everything,” says Erik, “Dr Seuss, fairy tales…”

Charles nods, ‘Don’t be surprised if the Cat in the Hat is eating pizza with your kids when we get back.’

The guest room has a double bed and a pull out couch, all squashed in like Tetris and already made up.

“I called ahead,” says Charles, wriggling his fingers near his temple. “Bit of a squish. Will you be alright in here?”

“We’ll be fine Charles, thanks again.” Erik is unpacking pyjamas and stuffed toys and a threadbare duck quilt. He stacks the suitcases in the cupboard, in too much of a rush to unpack now. 

Charles catches his hand and says seriously, “Thank you for trusting me, Erik.”

Erik’s hand jerks, he doesn’t quite trust yet, but without any conscious instruction from his brain his hand turns and grips Charles’ back briefly. Charles’ responding smile makes Erik’s teeth hurt, clenched together as they are against a raging thirst to kiss the coherence out of his host and see exactly how raw that beard would make Erik, grating on his chin and other places.

Charles smiles like he knows, and hell, he probably does, and they go back to eat with Sean, three excited children and Thing One. Then, Erik puts the previously MIA shoes on his children and their coats and they step out into the advancing evening.


	2. And all the colours illuminate.

Charles awakes to screaming and a chainsaw. He’s running to the living room before his eyes are open, yelling for Raven. At the entrance to the living room he runs into a tsunami of potent sexual desire pinpointed at him. Charles skids to a stop, locates the source of ‘grip push take bite want,’ forcing Erik to drop his eyes and look away.

Charles realizes he has interrupted a charming domestic scene wearing only boxers.

The chainsaw is the electric beaters, hovering over a bowl by themselves on the counter, they click off and settle in the sink when Erik waves a hand in their direction.

The screaming is the twins squealing encouragement to their father, who has them dangling two feet off the ground from steel rings and rotating like a mobile while he lies underneath them, snapping at them with his arms stretched out to make alligator jaws. 

“I’ll… just go… and put some clothes on,” says Charles, retreating.

“I’m making pancakes,” Erik calls after him.

“Yum,” he calls back, still scarpering, “that’s…” His voice tails off to a mutter, “Fuck, how to scare your house guest off.”

He pulls on jeans and the top T-shirt in his drawer. As the fabric brushes over his skin, he remembers sharply what Erik was thinking about that exact piece of body and imagines the teeth shaped bruising that would develop if Charles was lucky enough to convert that particular fantasy into reality. Charles does bruise easily, or rather, bruises stand out starkly on his light reflecting skin. And Charles remembers an Erik whose passion would not be held back, if that Erik is ever let loose from the straightened parental role he is taking so seriously, Charles can think of plenty of ways to direct all that energy.

He goes to join the family that has taken over his kitchen.

Erik is at the frying pan; the children are all seated and waiting. Pietro is folding his napkin into a boat. Wanda is flicking her hand over her knife, clearly trying to emulate her dad’s ability. Charles swaps it out for a spoon, just in case.

"This is a great idea,” Charles says, indicating the portable high chair Erik has hooked onto the dining table. Lorna is in it, kicking her feet.

“Yeah, it’s useful. I’m sorry if we woke you. The kids don’t do sleep ins.”

“That’s ok. You’re my guests. I should be accommodating you, making you breakfast, etcetera.”

Erik is twirling the silicone fish slice in his fingers. Charles wants to brush over the fine hairs on Erik’s forearms. He wants to smooth the creases on his forehead.

“How was your mum?”

“Oh,” Erik swallows. It seems to take a long time. “She was pleased to see us but she didn’t stay awake very long. I want to go up soon.” Erik glances at the oven clock.

“I’ve got nothing on today. I can take the kids, if you like. We can go to the hospital first, and I’ll hang out in the coffee shop, and then I’ll take them and leave you to spend some time.”

“You… don’t have to do that, Charles, you’ve already done so much.”

“It’ll be fun. And, I can take your phone number and text you if I need rescuing.”

“Ok, but just… for a couple of hours. We’ll meet for lunch.”

Charles grins, tries not to question why he needs Erik’s approval so much.

Erik puts a pancake on his plate. It’s shaped like a duck.

“Oops, that’s for Wanda,” says Erik, removing the duck again.

Charles is trying not to think filthy things as he watches Erik hands deftly cooking. He reminds himself he is surrounded by children. “Can I have a turtle?” he asks.

“Thanks Papa,” says Wanda, poking the duck on her plate with her finger, “but there’s something missing…” She taps the same finger on her chin, thinking, then says, “I know. The sauce is missing.”

“She means syrup, Charles. Do you have any?”

“I sure do. Raven’s addicted to sugar.” Charles brings out Maple, Golden, Tart Apple and Macadamia Maple. “Take your pick.”

Charles is having the breakfast experience he used to desperately want as a kid; one with sugar, laughter and gratitude. When Raven comes out she is blonde and fair skinned, dressed for a day in classes. She pours an excessive amount of syrup onto her pancake. After Charles kisses her goodbye and she treks out to school, Erik and Charles clean up together. It’s scary how easily they fall in to passing things to each other without vocal or mental comment.

Charles showers quickly and stands in front of his wardrobe for far too long, wanting to dress up for Erik’s mum but not wanting to spook Erik either.

Charles is way past mere physical attraction for Erik and has been since Erik’s vibrant and stalwart love for Lorna bloomed out across the airport lounge yesterday. It hooked Charles in like the worst kind of high, an accepting affection Charles doesn’t remember reading from any of his parents, step or biological. He’s felt it from Raven and Moira but nowhere near the level that tantalized him furling out from Erik’s mind. He’d instantly broken his personal boundaries and listened in before drifting over to get a bigger hit.

Charles remembers Erik from the rallies when he was sixteen, the salivating itch to touch Erik Lehnsherr for reasons that had nothing to do with his enigmatic call to action for mutant rights and everything to do with the slope of his shoulders, the square of his jaw and the stretch of his jeans. It had confirmed something for Charles and made his sexuality undeniable. That had been physical. 

This is rapidly becoming personal. 

Finally, he picks clothes practical for scrambling around after children and runs out to meet Erik, apologizing for taking so long. Erik is still struggling to put shoes on kicking, curled up little feet, so Charles starts helping the twins into their coats. They leave the apartment. Erik carries Lorna in a backpack and Pietro hangs onto his belt loop while Wanda hangs onto Charles.

If Charles thought he might get to talk to Erik on the bus, he is soon debunked. Erik is focused on the children all the time, they’re too little for Erik to spare any attention elsewhere, and Charles realizes what a rare moment that interlude on the airplane really was.

At the stairs leading to the hospital lobby, Pietro stops to swing on the handrail. “Come on, Pietro,” Erik snaps.

“You go, la… Erik,” Charles swallows the impulse to prematurely label Erik with an endearment. “Pietro and I can catch up. What room?”

Erik, brow smoothing out, tells Charles the ward and room number, walking rapidly away with his girls. Charles indulges Pietro’s monkey routine for a while, then challenges him to name words starting with A on the first step, B on the second step, C on the next and so on. He feels incredibly proud of his creativity and patience until it occurs to him it’s been only fifteen minutes, and he has the kids for the whole day. He imagines what it must be like for Erik revolving around them every day, all day, with no breaks.

“Pietroraptor? I think we should go and see your Omi now.”

“Ok,” says the tiny tornado, sliding his hand into Charles’. They enter the building, taking the lift to the correct floor, and following wall signs to the ward.

When they walk into the ward though, Charles is overpowered by a cloud of grief. He sinks to his knees and struggles to suck in breath. He has Pietro by the wrist while he is slamming walls in his head up as fast as he can. Someone has just died and Charles is caught in the whirl of unrestrained sadness, anger, and numb disbelief relentlessly leaking from family members and out into the hall.

There is a break in the raw emotion, a sharp, bright mind cutting through. Charles latches onto it. Erik. There is his constant low level concern for his kids and a new stinging fear. ‘Oh,’ thinks Charles, ‘that’s about me; that’s for me.’ He grabs it, flips it up, to find underneath it, a blanket of genuine caring which he almost throttles in his attempt to hold on to. Focused now, he locks his brain up tight.

“Charles, look at me.”

Charles does. It’s not a hardship, the man has the most delightful face.

“I’m sorry Erik.”

“Don’t be. What happened? Fuck you’re white.”

Charles leans into the painful points of Erik’s finger tips as they grip his shoulders. “I got caught out. I wasn’t being careful and someone died and their family… it’s so fresh and it got me, it got in. I wasn’t… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. You think I don’t slip up and melt an appliance every now and then? Remember Azazel from the movement? One time he slipped up and teleported the couch he was sitting on, and me and Janos with it, into someone’s bedroom while they were fu…” Erik’s eyes flick to Pietro, “… kissing. It looked like we had turned up just to perve; Janos even coincidently had popcorn.” Erik pushes the memory at Charles, who grabs it gratefully, then continues, “He was so flustered he couldn’t coordinate transporting us and the couch out and we ended up leaving it behind.” Erik looks morose, “It was a good couch too.”

Charles laughs, and unclutches the hand fisting Erik’s shirt front. He flattens the wrinkled material under his palm and leaves it open and still on Erik’s chest for a heartbeat. Then he takes a deep breath and looks into Erik’s overcast eyes. 

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” says Erik, and Charles gets, as clear as if it is his own impulse, and there is no guarantee it isn’t, the frightening yearning to press their lips together.

“I’m going to stand up now,” Charles says, and does. “Pietro, thank you so much for calling daddy and not freaking out.”

“You did it, Charles. Up here,” Erik taps his temple, “you were shouting for me.”

“You were sick,” explains Pietro, slipping his hand into Charles’ again.

“I was,” Charles says, “but I’m better now.” He wishes he could slip his other hand into Erik’s.

“You’d better come in with us now, Charles. Meet Mama, she won’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. She’ll want to know who I ran out on her for. And who the kids are with today.”

Charles is embarrassed to ask but does anyway, “Am I presentable? Not going to scare Lorna or your mum, am I?” 

Erik says, “You look… fine, Charles.” But he’s thinking, ‘smart sexy lickable kissable fucking hot delicious outrageously beautiful.’

Charles blushes and starts to follow Erik up the corridor.

“Let’s do the ABC game on these squares, Charleseratops,” says Pietro, pointing to the big lino tiles that line the floor.

“Maybe on the way out, Pietroraptor. Let’s say hi to your Omi right now, yes?”

“Charles gets to be a dino?” Erik queries, “What about me?”

“You can’t be a dino. You’re a daddy.” Pietro sends Charles a look that says, daddies can be so dense.

“You kind of look like a megalodon,” Charles tells Erik.

“Did you just call me a prehistoric shark?” 

“Oooh yes, Papa. You’re one of those.”

“A papalodon,” suggests Charles.

“Charles…”

“Papalodon,” agrees Pietro.

“I don’t like you,” Erik informs Charles.

“Yes. You do,” says Charles smugly.

“I like Charles,” Pietro contributes, sending a reprimanding glare in his daddy’s direction.

“Thank you, Pietro,” says Charles and pokes his tongue out at Erik, only to go red when Erik’s mind shouts his intention to put that tongue to better use.

Erik looks up at the ceiling, Charles stares at the tiles, anywhere but each other. Pietro is giggling because someone stuck their tongue out at his daddy.

Charles reigns himself in when they reach a door with ‘Edie Lehnsherr’ handwritten on a card slid into a metal holder. Erik flips his focus as quickly as the pancakes from earlier.

“Hey Mama, sorry about that. Were you ok with these monsters?”

“These are not monsters, they are angels. Is your friend alright, Erik?”

“Yes Mama, this is Charles. Charles, my mama, Edie Lehnsherr.”

“Hi, Mrs Lehnsherr.” Charles drags a chair bedside and sits so he isn’t looming over Erik’s mother. Pietro climbs into his lap. “It’s nice to meet you, although I wish it wasn’t with you in hospital. I’m sorry I had a weak moment and it took Erik away from you.”

“It’s nice to meet you whether I’m dying or not, Charles. You are very handsome. You have forgotten to brush your hair though, or is that artfully messy? I can’t tell these days.”

Charles is blooming like a day flower under the sun, the affectionate attention radiating from Erik’s mother warming him all over. “I thought it looked nice,” he chuckles.

“Erik thinks it looks nice.”

“Ma…”

“You reached out to my Erik when you needed help… with your mind?”

“Yes, Mrs Lehnsherr. I’m a telepath, but I didn’t actually know I was projecting to Erik at the time.”

“So you like him as much as he likes you. That’s good.” She ignores the bright red of Charles’ face and the goldfish impersonation Erik is doing. “You look smart, but that just proves it. Erik is an excellent choice.”

Charles recovers. “Yes,” he says, bravely looking over his shoulder at Erik, “he is.”

He embraces the gaze that was recently an anchor, Erik spilling hope and guilt, disbelief and lust into the wordless link between them. Charles is basically aware there are other people in the room and he should not be staring but somehow he keeps looking unquenched.

“Wanda,” says Pietro, breaking the moment, “Papa and Charles are dinos too.”

“They are?” Wanda asks and Pietro crawls up onto the bed to sit with her. Erik instantly steps forward to check damage to this mother. She waves him off.

Lorna spies Charles’ lap. “Chuz,” she says, annexing the recently vacated spot.

Edie grills Charles about his life. “So what so you do when you’re not…” she makes a hand motion, possibly meant to indicate a crystal ball, “reading my mind.”

Charles laughs. “I’m a graduate student and I co-run a mutant community youth center.” He turns to Erik. “I’d like to show you the center one day.”

“And you have a sister?” Edie prods.

“And a stepbrother. Cain is overseas, but Raven lives with me.”

“That’s good. Family is king.” She raises her voice, but attempts to play casual, “It sure would be nice to see Erik settled with someone lovely before I die.”

“Don’t push your luck, Ma.”

Charles can tell Edie is starting to get tired, so he reaches for the backpack to carry Lorna. “I’m going to take the kids to the park,” he says and Erik helps him place Lorna safely inside the carry pack. “Ready Wandasaurus? Pietroraptor?” 

“Yay,” says Pietro. The twins scramble off the bed and each take one of Charles’ hands. Charles has his shields up tight, but as he herds the children out the door the mattress squeaks and he glimpses Erik’s long, beautiful form curled up next to his ma on the bed. She is cupping his face and anyone can see that saying goodbye to each other is the hardest part of this process.

Charles herds the children to a playground and lets the twins loose. He props Lorna and the backpack on a bench seat so he can wriggle out of it and then unclip her. She smiles at him like she is starring in a toothpaste commercial and flings her arms around his neck. He can’t help but give her a quick Eskimo kiss.

There is a swing free, so he pops her in it and pushes her in a small, gentle arc. He can see Pietro dominating the flying fox and Wanda on the swing bridge. She is clearly a playing a princess who is sword fighting a dragon, if the stick she is poking over the sides and the shouts of “Duck, you’ll get burnt,” are anything to go by. 

When Lorna begins to throw herself around too much, Charles gets her out of the swing and carries her to the sandpit. Two different moms pick their children up and take them elsewhere at the sight of Lorna’s hair. Charles breathes heavily through his nose, fighting nausea and fury. He clenches his fist, trying very hard not to reach into their heads and alter their opinions. He did that once in the past when he was twelve and Raven was six; a mother stopped her kid from playing with his blue baby sister in the park and Charles furiously, and none too gently, ripped the mutant hatred and distrust out of her mind by the roots, replacing it with a chunk of knowledge on genome evolution that Charles had read in his Dad’s old textbooks and some personal experience of what it was like to be rejected for being born into a minority. He feels like doing exactly that again, but he knows it doesn’t help, that society needs to evolve the same as human physicality does.

The experience makes him love the little green haired baby and her single minded father a bit more. He swears to himself, he’ll make the world safe for them.

There are some mothers encouraging their children to play with Wanda or Pietro or Lorna, although they are motivated by an adult interest in Charles, rather than a genuine desire for kiddy friendship. The simpering smiles and not particularly subtle arm touches simply infuriate Charles because he keeps thinking this must happen to Erik all the time. The thought makes his stomach churn.

After two hours, Charles promises lunch to extract the three children from the playground, and they start the trek back to his place.

Charles gets the kids inside and makes up plates with sandwiches, fruit, potato chips and a cookie. Pietro eats his cookie first and then his chips and sandwich, pushing aside the fruit. Wanda methodically eats even amounts of each thing in a pattern: sandwich, chips, cookie, fruit, repeat. Lorna shoves anything randomly into her mouth and makes loud ummm noises. 

Then Charles plays Raven’s copy of The Lion King, the twins spread out on the rug in front of the screen and Charles holds Lorna on the couch. She starts to snuggle, dozy and full. He takes in the slight curve of her baby round cheeks, and is filled with incredulity. He experiences both a surge of protectiveness and the violent need to smoosh his face against her cute little nose. While he is trying to reconcile these two warring impulses, Lorna’s aqua eyes, replicas of Erik’s, gaze up at him with trust and Charles swears fealty. He will make kings and gods kneel down before this baby. As she naps in his arms, Charles applies his respected scientific mind to the puzzle of her pull over him, and concludes that babies are magic. It’s the logical explanation for why he wants to watch her sleep in his arms, why she smells like life can’t get any better and why his chest feels all tangy and fuzzy when he hears her snoring.

When Erik lets himself in, his head is bowed in defeat. Then he spots his wee green topped daughter drooling on Charles’ T-shirt and his expression softens, blends into amusement and affection.

“Hey,” he whispers, smiling at Charles.

“Hey back,” says Charles. He is tingling and aware of each of his and Erik’s breaths.

“Hi Papa.”

“Hi Papalodon.”

The twins barely look from the screen to greet their father.

“I hope this is ok,” whispers Charles. “I just wanted them to rest a bit.”

“Yeah,” says Erik, tiredly, “wish I could.” He reaches for Lorna. “I’ll put her down properly.”

Charles lets her go, worried he got it wrong. Erik settles her in the guest room and Charles meets him in the hall. “Is she alright? Should I have put her down before?”

“Don’t worry, Charles,” Erik reassures him, hand gripping his shoulder.

Like the touch is permission, Charles’ hands drift up to caress either side of Erik’s waist. Erik’s mouth falls open. Charles bites his lip. They stand in the hall, not really moving except for Charles’ middle finger tracing tiny circles at the base of Erik’s ribs.

Charles sighs. “You should eat,” he says, “then maybe catch a nap while Lorna’s down.”

“I could definitely eat,” says Erik, leading into the kitchen. Charles makes him a plate while Erik downs a glass of water. Charles sits right next to Erik as he is eating. He can’t keep his hands to himself now that etiquette has been breached and runs his fingertips into the valley of Erik’s spine, up the other side and then back. Down and up, down and up, over and over while Erik chews. Finally, Erik pushes his plate away.

“How’s your mum?” 

Erik glances at Charles and then reverts to gazing at his hands. “She’s weak. Doesn’t seem like much has changed, but she’s in tests now for a while. I can go back in the late afternoon. I… I just wish I hadn’t moved away. Not even for such a good job. All that time I could have spent with her.”

“She would never begrudge you that opportunity.”

“I know.” He shrugs, and slides into silence.

“Come on. Come lie down. Watch a movie.” Charles tugs at his sleeve.

Erik follows him meekly and lies on the couch, head in Charles’ lap, as per Charles’ direction; he drifts into dreamland before Simba reaches adulthood. Charles stays still and watches someone sleep on him for the second time that afternoon. It’s strangely relaxing.

Raven returns home, stopping inside the doorway to openly goggle at the cozy scene in front of the TV. She mouths, “What is going on?” and waggles her finger back and forth between Erik and Charles.

‘I’m so far gone, Raven. I am fucked,’ Charles sends her mind to mind.

She rolls her eyes. ‘Doofus.’ The thought is laced with fondness and doesn’t sting. ‘Take him to bed; I’ll watch the twins.’

Charles project an arrow of indignation at her. ‘I will,’ he tells her, hoping his mental voice sounds suitably righteous, ‘but just to sleep.’

She assesses her brother more thoroughly. ‘If you mean that, then you are incredibly far gone. You, who could turn an abstinence rally into an opportunity for sex.’

Charles closes his eyes briefly, gathers strength, reopens them.

“Erik,” he says, using a neat trick of wrapping secure thoughts around Erik’s so his waking is gentle and not shocking. “You’ll get a crick neck. Sleep in bed. The kids are all fine.” 

Erik nods, rolls off the couch and shuffles down the hallway. The weight of being a grown up with no parental safety net of his own is dragging his eyelids and his energy down. He lifts a hand to open the guest bed door and Charles stalls him.

“Borrow my room. Raven or I will get Lorna if she wakes up before you.” He holds out his hands, palms up. “Nothing kinky, I promise. Just want you to have a decent bloody rest.”

Erik puts his hand into Charles’ and lets himself be led down the hall. Charles opens the door to his room and asks if Erik needs anything else. Erik doesn’t look at him but he shifts his grip from Charles’ hand to his wrist, and says, “Stay?”

“Yes,” says Charles, as if there was even a chance he’d say no.

Erik crawls under the blanket and curls up, and Charles follows him, follows the curve of him, wraps around him with his limbs and with comforting dreams, cheating a little to send Erik off into relaxing slumber.


	3. With metal on our tongues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Highest gratitude for Kernezelda who answers my inane questions about Americanisms and entertains my what-ifs. This is un-betaed though, so any inaccuracy and idiocy is mine all mine.
> 
> Also, I added a little reference for Afrocurl. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> .x.

Charles wakes to screaming and a chainsaw. This time he swears he won’t be fooled. Erik starts awake and looks around disoriented, breaking into a hopeful smile when he perceives Charles, who hesitantly returns the smile and presses his finger into Erik’s collarbone. Erik shivers. “Daddy’s clavicle,” says Charles.

Erik stiffens immediately at the reference to his children and Charles swings his legs to the floor in response, supportive in action.

The twins are playing Snakes and ladders with Raven. “No sounds from the tiny one,” Raven says.

Erik checks on Lorna; she is sprawled horizontally across the bed with her lumpy bunny under one leg, face screwed up, determinedly asleep.

“Charles,” he says, back in the lounge, “If they really are okay with you, I’d like to go back to the hospital and it’s easier if I don’t have to split my attention.”

“They’re fine Erik, go.”

“Between me and Charles, you can take as long as you need, Erik,” adds Raven.

Erik nods. He hugs each of the twins, pressing prolonged, almost harsh kisses to their crowns.

‘So hot,’ Raven sends Charles. He smiles at her. 

Erik puts his jacket on and Charles calls, “Wait!” He pulls off his signet ring. “I know you can let yourself in anywhere, but why don’t you make a key out of this just in case you want to be circumspect.” He produces the key for Erik to copy.

Wanda and Pietro run to their father to watch him and he makes a theatrical display of it for them to wonder at, waving his hand over first the key and then the ring until they are indistinguishable. Wanda claps and Pietro says, “Cool, Papa.”

“Thanks twinnies,” says Erik, and the twins groan at the appellation. He looks at Charles, “Thanks Charles.”

Charles swallows. “You’re welcome.” He can feel Raven’s mental eye roll.

After her father has left, Wanda sidles over to Charles. He nudges her. “What’s up, baby doll?” he asks her.

“Charles,” wails Raven, indignant, “that’s my name, I mean, that’s what you call me.” 

“Put your bottom lip back in, Raven,” says Charles, “How’s this?” He turns back to Wanda, “What’s up, sweet baby?”

Wanda giggles. “Can you please tell me about the dinosaur Papa is named after?”

“Oooh yes,” says Charles, “I’ll get my laptop.”

Charles and Wanda spend some time on Google reading about the Megalodon while Raven entertains Pietro with her mutation. When Lorna wakes, Charles reminds Raven she probably needs to study.

“I promise I’ll get it done after dinner, or bedtime. Can I hang out a bit longer?”

“Alright. You’re promising, though. In your bedroom. No tumblr.”

“Jeez Charles, don’t you get tired of being a nerd?”

“Ah no, actually. Do you get tired of being my flawless baby doll?

“Dork,” she says, looking pleased. “Can we go to the bookstore?”

“Do you want to go to the bookstore, Wanda? We can look for more information on the Megalodon.”

“Yes,” says Wanda and giggles, adding, “Sweet baby.”

Pietro and Raven snort with laughter. Charles tints red and collects their coats.

They wrap up and make their way along two blocks to the closest bookstore. It’s only a small one and there is nothing much in the non-fiction section apart from cookbooks and travel. It’s a good fiction store though, and Charles soon loses the twins in the children’s shelves. He buys everyone a book each, even though Raven pleads for two and he has to pick out Lorna’s one for her. 

At home, he is relieved to see Sean and Moira, both of whom he quickly co-opts into distracting children and helping prepare dinner respectively. Charles and Moira get a salad ready and some enchiladas in the oven, and then Charles sets up an obstacle course around the lounge, dining area and up the hallway. 

“Follow me,” he challenges and, like baby ducks, Sean, Raven and Erik’s kids copy him as he crawls under the dining table, around the coffee table which is tipped over sideways, up the hall to throw a ball into a wastepaper basket Moira is holding, back down the hall to the couch which they climb onto then leap off, over a dining chair and through a triangle-shaped hole made by taping the broom, one end to the breakfast bar, the other to the floor.

“It’s the broomuda triangle,” Sean quips.

Charles yells what he is doing, “Under, around, into, onto and off, over, through!”

Wanda and Sean yell too. Pietro just speeds around, lapping everyone after two rounds. Lorna chases everyone, squealing, chubby legs pumping fast in her attempt to keep up, and Raven jogs next to her to lift her up onto things and catch her as she falls off. 

“Good running Lorna,” Charles shouts. Pietro scoffs as he skids feet first through the broomuda triangle.

Charles and Sean manage five or six rounds before they give up. Raven lasts longer because Lorna isn’t going particularly fast. The twins run and run and run. Moira’s eyes are getting bigger and bigger.

“Are they ever going to stop?”

“Dinner will stop them,” says Charles and goes to check on the enchiladas. They are cooked and he gets three out and cuts them up into bite size pieces to cool off before venturing into the race track to call a halt.

“Ok, let’s put everything back and wash our hands and set the table.”

“Awww, do we have to? I’m winning,” whines Pietro.

“We do have to,” says Moira, looking exhausted.

“But you were the fastest, Pea,” Sean reassures him. 

“And you said the right action every time, sweet baby, so you were the most accurate,” Charles tells Wanda.

“You were the bravest,” says Raven, holding Lorna.

They break down the obstacle course. Pietro isn’t much help as he is still sulking. Then, there is a squish into the bathroom to wash their hands, followed by setting the table. Again, Pietro isn’t much help as he stands in the middle of the kitchen attempting to summon the cutlery like his dad would do. Charles and Moira are forced to inch around him.

Dinner is very noisy. Moira looks overwhelmed, but Sean is used to big family dinners, and Charles and Raven are lapping up the enthusiastic, relaxed, hilarious meal time. Charles gives the kids, and Sean, chocolate rice pudding for desert. Lorna spreads hers over her face, rubs it through her hair and swirls it onto the table. Charles belatedly concludes he should have spooned it for her. He uses baby wipe after baby wipe trying to get it off her hands and face, but she shouts, “Don’t want to,” and whips her head out of his way or tucks her hands under her knees.

Sean is vastly amused. “Drop it, teach. Just put her in the bath. I’ll go run it.” He draws a bath and takes over, coercing Moira into assisting, and telling Charles to take care of the kitchen. Charles can hear excited voices and splashing and Sean’s gorgeous tenor voice singing ‘There’s a hippo in the bathtub.’ He can hear, “Again Sean,” and “Water stays in the bathtub,” and “Papa doesn’t make us wash under our chins,” and “Shut up Pietro, yes he does.”

Getting the kids into pajamas takes Charles, Raven and Sean’s combined efforts.

“I need my duck quilt, Lorna needs her bunny, and Piert needs his dinosaur,” Wanda informs Charles, sparking a treasure hunt which unearths the duck quilt from under the blankets, Denny the dino hiding under the pull out couch and the bunny escaping into the gap between the pillow and the wall. 

“I don’t need Denny,” Pietro insists, “He just likes to sleep with me, that’s all.”

“Charles?” Wanda asks from under the blankets. “Does Lorna have a baby name?”

“Yeah, sweet baby, Lorna is called baby love,” says Charles, and Sean starts singing, ‘Baby love, my baby love, I need you oh how I need you.’ Charles and Raven join in, ‘but all you do is treat me bad, break my heart and leave me sad.’ They sing until Lorna’s eyes drift closed. 

Then Raven goes to her room to do homework, and Sean says he’s taking Moira for a beer because she’s been traumatized, “By something at work today, Dub and Pea,” he lies, when insightful Wanda looks worried, and Charles sits on the pull out couch with the twins and reads to them from their new books.

“Charles?” says Wanda, when Pietro is snoring lightly.

“Yes, Wandasaurus?”

“I like it here.”

He kisses her hair. “I like having you here,” he tells her. “Go to sleep now sweet baby.” 

By the time Erik comes home, Charles is absorbed in his work. He looks up owlishly and smiles. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Tired.”

“Your mum the same?”

“No change.” Erik smirks, “Asked if you were coming in to see her tomorrow.”

Charles blushes, “Really?”

“Yeah, she likes you.”

“Cool,” says Charles, more triumphant at this scrap of parental approval than from most of his successful sexual conquests. He reflects on that for a minute, while Erik removes his coat and shoes. “Hungry, Erik? We had enchiladas, I can warm some up.”

“Yes please. Were the kids okay?”

“Lorna started to look around for you,” says Charles, pulling plastic wrap off a dish of enchiladas. He turns the oven on and looks up at Erik from under his fringe. “I think I’m falling in love with your kids.”

Erik snorts and shrugs, but there is pride peeking out from the casual response.

“I’m fairly certain Pietro will manifest, Erik. His primary mutation is something to do with speed.” Charles works to feed Erik while he catches the father up on his kids’ day. “We did an obstacle course around the lounge, like an indoor kiddie parkour run. Of course, Lorna mainly just ran around and around, but the twins followed me over and through and under things. He is very fast but also… my general reading of everybody, without actually trying to read anybody, is mood, emotion, occasionally intention… and when Pietro is going really fast, he isn’t straining, he isn’t even really trying. When he goes fast, he relaxes into it. Does that make sense to you?”

“Yes,” says Erik, “When I’m pushing myself, I’m concentrating, but… not straining as much as focusing.”

“And it feels correct, right? Like something fallen into place?”

“Yes, definitely. It wasn’t always like that. When I was younger, developing it, learning to do more and more complex things, it required effort. But I think you’re saying Piert is being himself when he’s fast.”

Charles nods, plating the heated enchiladas, placing the hot food and a bowl of salad in front of Erik.

“When?” asks Erik, summoning cutlery from the draw.

“In the next couple of years.”

Erik grins, the indigenous seriousness of his eyes and posture colonized by pride and excitement. “Huh,” he says. He sits with it momentarily, adjusting, then digs into dinner.

“And your Wanda, Erik, is so bright. She asked about the Megalodon, so we Googled it and went to the closest bookstore to see if there were any books on them. No, by the way, but she spotted a book and seemed to know the series and which book in the series you were up to…”

“Sisters Grimm,” Erik nods, rolls his eyes.

“We read it for bedtime; she was so engaged, even though it’s a bit advanced for her age.”

“You bought a book to read her?”

“Oh, is… that okay?”

“Are you always this generous?”

“Fuck, I’ve freaked you out. I’ve been told I’m way too generous. Darwin once called me a doormat. But it’s all for my own glee, I promise you. It’s a thrill to see Pietro’s potential for speed and Wanda’s sharp mind honing in on something. People’s fulfillment is very satisfying to me, a hit of it is like a shot of vodka for someone else.

“Also, everyone is very different. No matter how many people you meet, there is some uniqueness. Like how Wanda doesn’t clutch, doesn’t attach… even when holding our hands she just places her hand in mine or Raven’s as a symbol of holding hands. It’s almost like she doesn’t trust that anything is fixed or that she is solidly part of the proceedings; she’s willing to give the gesture but reserving the feeling behind it.”

“Charles. You’ve known us for just over a day, you realize.”

“Yes, sorry,” Charles says, hanging his head, “Not my place.”

“I meant,” Erik says as he carries his plate to the sink, “you’ve observed my kids so closely, but you’re guessing motivation so… you haven’t read their heads.”

Charles makes an abortive gesture.

“Beyond the surface emotions,” Erik clarifies.

“Well no, of course. In fact, I wanted to ask… Raven and I used to play games as kids where she would, for example, shift into Red Riding Hood and I would tinker with the perception part of her brain so I looked like the wolf. Raven suggested it today as we were playing, but I wanted to get your permission first.”

“Thank you for asking. Just return my kids with their brains in original condition afterward please.”

Erik is looking at him; Charles can’t place the expression, it’s as if Erik has made an amusing discovery but he is simultaneously not sure why he is allowed to be close to it. It feels like there is nowhere to go but inside the inches that separate them and Charles leans in, hesitating briefly, questing permission. Erik’s hand taps a butterfly light cadence across Charles’ shoulder blade so Charles kisses him, drawing Erik’s mouth into his with tiny scooping nibbles. Just their lips are touching but Charles can feel it everywhere, his whole body kindles inch by inch.

“Am I taking advantage of you? You’re my house guest,” Charles asks breathlessly.

Erik swoops forward and hefts Charles up under his buttocks. Charles gasps and throws his arms around Erik’s neck. 

“Am I taking advantage?” Erik asks, carrying Charles to the couch and throwing him down. “You’re my host.”

He stretches out on top of Charles and kisses him open, all soggy expulsions of breath and heat and unpredictable pulls and swells. It’s frightening and thrilling. Charles misplaces his control at the second swipe of tongue and arches into each touch, lips chasing Erik’s at each retreat for air. 

Charles thinks, ‘I’m really, actually kissing Erik Lehnsherr,’ but the thought isn’t reassuring. It’s still stingingly surreal, as if Charles is watching himself writhe and whimper under a stupidly attractive man and any minute now the credits will roll. His hands squeeze like a vice around Erik’s unyielding biceps willing himself to be concrete in the moment. 

It’s incongruous. Erik palming his thigh makes him feel ransacked; and yet he shifts his leg higher, greedy for more. As Charles spans his hands on Erik’s waist and edges his way under fabric to skin, he glories in his boldness; but is sure he can’t be making Erik feel as incredible as Charles is being made to feel. Erik’s fingers tugging on his hair cause a desperate happiness; and spark a wild fear of eventual parting.

Then Erik’s hips jerk against Charles’ jeans and Charles moans into Erik’s mouth as a hard, hot column presses along his inner thigh and nudges his balls. He starts to babble, “Amazing, you’re amazing, feels so good, so fucking good, Erik, fuck, fuck, so amazing.” Erik thrusts again and nips Charles on the underside of his chin as Charles’ words puff up over his cheek bone and curl into his ear.

Lorna’s cry snaps out from the guest room, confused and entitled, calling for a father who is always there. Erik stares at Charles for a few seconds, panting, damp and rapidly cooling, deceptively inert, like the stark tang in the aftermath of a storm. Then he slides off Charles and the couch and goes to his baby. The guest bedroom door clicks softly closed.


	4. Light and paper thin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm truly sorry for that appalingly long interval. That will not happen again.
> 
> Thanks to kernezelda and lost-in-a-paradox for the test readings. There will be bad grammar, regardless, because I skipped school to eat pizza and listen to punk music.
> 
>  
> 
> xxx

In the morning Erik wakes to Lorna’s solid foot kicking him in the neck. She is fast asleep. 

He looks to the pull out couch where Pietro is sleeping and Wanda is smiling at him, her duck applique baby quilt hooding her head, with Pietro’s dinosaur book open on her knees.

He whispers, “Morning, baby.”

She preens and whispers back. “Morning, Papa.”

He smiles at her, happy for a second. Generally, the experience of raising these kids is stress, worry and a stubborn sense of never being enough. Whenever Erik attains a lull of happiness, a surge of love, a sign of peace, he tries to wallow in it until it unavoidably dissipates into the day’s logistics. This morning, the golden-lit moment with his little girl is hijacked by the memory of a kiss. He remembers the graze of Charles’ beard, the taste of him, the way everything in Erik wanted to be wherever they were touching.

Erik berates himself. He can’t be thinking of Charles. Especially in the light of what Charles said about Wanda not clutching. Erik has just faded his attention off his unassuming daughter again. He looks over at her, frowning with her nose back in a book, and wonders how often she is overlooked by the sheer dint of being undemanding. 

“Wanda,” he whispers. She looks up. “Want to help me make breakfast?”

Her little face lights up, she crawls off the pull out couch and pads eagerly after Erik into the kitchen. Erik starts making coffee with Wanda standing on a chair next to him. “What shall we make Wandasaurus?”

“Muffins,” she declares, pointing to the cookbooks lining a small shelf in Charles’ kitchen. “We need that book.”

“Show me,” Erik picks her up and lifts her to it. She selects a red covered book and opens it on the counter, flicking through until she finds the page she wants.

“These ones,” she tells him. They are banana, bran and maple syrup.

“Yum Wanda. Hope Charles has the ingredients.” Erik sets Wanda on a treasure hunt in the cupboards for flour and bran, then he spreads his hands like Moses and flicks open cupboards, calling mixers, beaters and metal bowls. “Duck Wanda,” he says as she walks into the path of a bowl. He swerves it over her anyway, but she ducks and quacks and giggles.

Charles comes in wearing sweats and a grey T-shirt. He must catch Erik’s immediate disappointment at the differing outfit from yesterday morning, because he looks down at himself and smirks at Erik.

“Hi,” says Erik, unsure and breathless.

“Good morning,” says Charles, stopping inches from Erik and stroking the back of one finger down Erik’s abdomen once. He is smiling like he won all the awards.

Erik smiles back, a bit dazed. It’s been a while since he was a prize. "We’re making muffins, hopefully, if you have the ingredients.”

“Can I help, Wandasaurus?” Charles asks.

“Yes please, can you help me find the bananas?”

“I don’t have bananas, but let’s do them with peaches instead,” suggests Charles.

“You are a genius, Charleseratops,” says Wanda, importantly. Erik shrugs at Charles, wondering where Wanda learnt about genius.

“Thank you Wanda,” says Charles calmly. “That is technically true.” He says in Erik’s head, ‘You should get her tested. She is very smart.’

They start the baking process, Erik showing off as much as possible. Whenever he uses his powers, Charles touches him secretly, softly, briefly. The muffins go in the oven and Wanda goes to wake her brother. Erik is washing his hands in the sink when he is trapped against the counter and teeth scrape his shoulder blade. He shudders, rocks his arse back, blushing at his automatic reaction. Erik is normally the one who makes his partners unconsciously crave, leave their husbands, beg. He tries joking to cover his unfamiliar loss of control.

“I thought I was the Megalodon, yet you’re biting me.”

“You can bite me,” Charles growls, and the rumble of sound rolls through Erik’s groin. To Erik’s embarrassment, he emits a soft, desirous grunt. But Charles steps away and turns to face the hallway. “Hey Pietroraptor, want some juice?”

“Yes,” says Pietro, appearing rumpled and dozy in the doorway with Wanda attached to his sleeve. 

“Piert,” Wanda nudges him, “please.”

“Please, Charles,” he quickly adds. His big eyes follow Erik until Erik picks him up and places him at the table, dotting kisses on his forehead as he does. He places Wanda in the neighbouring chair the same way.

Charles is pouring apple juice into a glass until Erik swipes it from him and divides it and waters it down, making two glasses from one. Charles nods, accepting the lesson. ‘Sorry Erik,’ he thinks, and gets an easy smile back. Charles potters about cutting fruit for the twins and fetching Lorna from the guest room when they hear her waking, while Erik retrieves the muffins from the oven and levers them onto the cooling tray. He kisses Lorna and grasps the mug of coffee Charles hands him without a word being spoken. They’re functioning like a team. He’s never done this, this family scene, this domesticity, with someone else. It’s either been him nurtured by his loving mother, or him trekking through the tundra of fatherhood and there are only his shoulders to bear the weight of three children in his papoose. 

When the children are eating happily, and Lorna is humming her ‘yum, yum, yum’ eating theme song, Erik follows Charles into the kitchen to refill his coffee. Charles is leaning into the corner of the pantry door, resting his head and his eyes, which flicker open when he registers Erik. It’s an intense tractor beam of a gaze; Erik has shuffled the few steps towards him without knowing it. Erik wants to kiss him so very badly and holds his breath in case his desire leaks out with the CO2.

Raven spins into the kitchen. She swipes Erik’s coffee and gulps half of it. 

“Hey,” Erik protests, weakly.

The blue girl laughs, bites into one of the muffins and a few crumbs fall out of her mouth when she groans, “Hmm so good. Erik, I’m begging. Please live here forever.”

She whirls out again, not waiting for a response, and pauses at the table. “Watch this, kiddies,” she says. The scales imbricated on her skin flutter in a wave from her feet to her head and she is now blonde and peachy.

The kids cheer. Charles frowns. “A little less make-up please, baby doll,” he requests.

Raven sighs. Her face flashes again and she presents herself to Charles. “Better?” she says, sulkily.

“Much,” says Charles, and he warns, “I’ll know if you change it back.” 

She merely pokes her tongue out at him and leaves the apartment. Charles swallows some tea. He purposefully smoothes his eyebrows apart to manually push aside any worry and says, “I’ll come to the hospital this morning, yes?”

“Yes, Ma will like that,” Erik says. It’s going on ten o’clock by the time everyone’s been dressed, fed, hurried out to the bus stop. They trip itself is better today, Charles takes charge of Lorna and Erik only has one super quick pair of legs and one super quick brain to monitor.

Charles follows Erik and the kids into the hospital room and Edie’s eyes pop open. 

“Hi Mama,” Erik says softly, pressing a kiss into her hair and swiping a thumb over her cheekbone. “How’re you doing today?” 

“Hello my son, my favourite blessing,” Edie returns, almost offhandedly, as if Erik should know by now he is her most precious gift. “And my little angels,” she waves them onto the bed. “And Charles, darling young man,” she grips his hand.

“Hello, Mrs Lehnsherr, we brought you some fruit and some pecan toffee. And I brought you a book to read,” Charles says, and places his gifts on her bed side table. “You’re looking brighter today.”

“Because you’re here,” she returns, smoothly.

“Ma, please don’t flirt with the man who is letting us stay in his home,” Erik whines.

“I don’t flirt, Erik, I only speak the absolute truth.”

“Omi, Charles bought me a book,” Wanda says, waving said book in her grandmother’s face.

“You are very fortunate, Wanda. It looks very interesting,” Edie says, encouragingly. Wanda launches into an enthusiastic retelling of the series and the first chapters. Erik inches towards Charles and smiles down at him. Charles grins back. Erik thinks that smile has a seriously large impact radius. 

Edie clears her throat. Wanda has climbed off the bed to join her siblings on the floor where there is a furious fistfight underway between Pietro’s robot and Lorna’s plushie puppy, and Erik can’t tell how long he’s been ignoring his hospitalised mother to smile like a sap at the man he met the other day. He goes bright pink and starts to apologise. 

Edie ignores him. “Charles, dear, you didn’t spend money on me did you? On that book?”

“No, Mrs Lehnsherr…”

“Oh please, call me Edie. I can tell you’ve already kissed my son so we can dispense with the Mrs this and that.”

“How…?” squeaks Erik.

“I…” croaks Charles, matching Erik’s blush now. 

Edie folds her hands in her lap, smirking. “I know my Erik’s every expression,” she explains, “and by the look of him, you have nothing to apologise for. He seems very satisfied.”

“Ma!” Erik hisses.

“Completely expected results,” says Charles, more bluster than belief. “I hope you haven’t read the book I brought in, Edie? I had limited options in my bookshelves here.”

Edie reaches for the book and laughs. It’s a nostalgic sound for Erik. It gets in his bones. “Oh Charles, I have read it but I think it is the kind of book I’ll get something new from it when I read it this time too. It is a lovely German book, thank you.”

“I was impressed but I can’t say I managed to adopt the best lessons from the book into my life,” admits Charles.

“I imagine you’ve done better than Erik who couldn’t even sit still long enough to finish it.”

“I meant to finish it but there are always more important things to do,” Erik defends himself, but Charles and Edie laugh harder and Edie places ‘The Discovery of Slowness’ back on the bedside cabinet.

Pietro climbs on the bed and shows Edie and Erik how his robot can do somersaults. He loves to chuck the robot into the air, setting it spinning and cheering when it lands.

“Edie Lehnsherr, you wouldn’t dare!” Charles blurts out suddenly.

The entire room is silent. Charles has gone red and Edie looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Erik switches his glare from one to the other, but they are ignoring him. She unexpectedly smiles. “Charles? Did you just “show” me something interesting? Because that was very interesting.”

His colour deepens further. “Of course not! I will not be a party to this,” he insists. “No. Well, if I did, it wasn’t on purpose.” He turns his horrified eyes to Erik, before their focus falls to the floor. “I’m going to get a cup of tea. Anyone?”

Charles scurries out of the room, and Erik, perplexed, casts a querulous glare at his tiny mama

“The hospital is moving me, Erik,” she explains. “There is nothing else they can do for me but I’m not currently getting worse. I can go to a very nice hospice.”

“Absolutely not, Mama. I'll come home and look after you...”

“This is why I wasn’t going to say anything,” Edie says, interrupting. 

“You weren’t going to tell me?” Erik says, off balance. 

“My Erik, you and the children have a life. You’re going to throw that all away and squeeze into my little apartment? It wasn’t even big enough for you and me and your father, let alone all of us. Then, how can you look after me, and the babies, and work? I didn’t tell you because I knew you would come home without question and, maybe, it’s not the right thing to do.”

“You can’t decide for me,” Erik sounds sulky and six years old.

Edie sighs. “I know. Anyway, Charles has some good ideas. We may come up with a solution yet.”

“He read you and then leaked these ideas at you?”

“Yes. He has a very good heart, that Charles,” Edie glances at him slyly, “and a very nice tushy.” 

Erik gives his mother his patented unimpressed look, then smirks and says, “Anyway, I’ve felt that tushy.”

Edie giggles in the manner of Wanda, and Erik smiles, “We’ll figure it out. We Lehnsherrs are survivors.”

“And us Maximoffs,” adds Pietro. 

“He meant all of the LMD’s,” Wanda informs him. “But I don’t know what a tushy is.”

“It must be that weird round thing in the lounge that’s not a seat, but not a table and Raven puts her feet on it,” Pietro suggests.

They look at Erik expectantly. 

He is saved by the return of Charles. “Edie, Erik, I’ve made some phone calls and I think I have some possible solutions. Would you allow me to recommend a babysitter, Erik? Because then we could discuss your plans and I could offer take you to review some possibilities, tomorrow if you like.”

“What about Mama, shouldn’t we include her in the discussions about her future?”

Edie chuckles at her son. “This is an offering of options, not the family decision. Besides, Charles showed me in my head already.”

“Why didn’t you show me in my head already?” Erik shouts loud enough that Wanda stands up and wrings her hands.

“I meant no offense, Erik,” Charles soothes while holding out a hand to Wanda, “but my showing Edie in her head is similar to showing her brochures or pictures on my phone anyway. You have a chance to physically visit some hospices, daycares, housing.” He strokes Wanda’s hair as she snuggles his waist. “Okay, sweet baby?” he asks her. She nods, but stays latched on.

Edie’s gaze is fond but long-suffering. “Besides Charles knows I trust him to show me everything accurately and we know you don’t trust anything but your own eyes and judgement.” Erik raises an eyebrow in concession and Edie continues, “I already know Charles to be the best person I know who isn’t yet related to me.”

Erik makes a noise somewhere in between a gasp and a squeak. “Ma,” he complains, “You can’t nag people into joining the family.”

Edie huffs. “Not nag, Erik. I sometimes repeat myself as you haven’t listened the first time.”

The group of them take turns kissing Edie good bye and make the bus ride and trek to Charles’ place.

The lunch Erik made his kids is unimaginative but, at least, balanced. His mind keeps skittering into possibilities, which are swiftly killed off with pragmatism, and his chest swirls with despair for his mama. There’s no question for Erik of not moving back, but it feels like an anvil between his shoulder blades when the amount of individual things to be worked out and accomplished clamour into his brain for attention.

He doesn’t remember wiping Lorna up after lunch or placing her in front of the television with the twins, and only comes to himself when Wanda asks, “What’s wrong, Papa?”

Erik’s attention jerks back to his little children. He stuffs his concerns deep down. “Sadly, Wandasaurus, my tummy is grumbling,” Erik says, lowering himself to his knees. 

Pietro leaps up, and Wanda cries out, “Oh no!”

“Yes,” says Erik dramatically, “I’m afraid the only possible outcome is…”

“Tummy battle!” yell the twins and Erik together.

“Tum bell!” screeches Lorna, hauling her pinafore up to her chest.

Erik pulls his shirt up too and Lorna toddles to her dad, bumping her bare belly against his and falling away while emitting her gruff little laugh. The twins are shouting “Tummy battle,” then running at each other with their abdomens bared and colliding with a brutal oomph. 

“Now me,” Erik instructs Wanda. She runs at him, smacking him tummy to tummy and rebounding onto her bottom before collapsing in giggles. Lorna launches herself at Pietro, repeatedly. 

Charles appears at the kitchen entrance wide-eyed. His mouth is hanging open, three vertical lines between his eyebrows. Erik’s family stills and stares back at him.

“Wha…” Charles begins to say. 

Pietro breaks his frozen pose. “Get him Papa!” he yells pointing, and Erik gets to his feet and sprints the short distance to the kitchen, T-shirt up. 

“What?” says Charles, a second time. 

Erik scrunches Charles’ shirt up and bumps the hard muscles of his abdomen against Charles’ smooth belly. “Tummy battle,” he says, an inch from Charles’ temple. Charles inhales sharply.

Before Charles can orient himself, Erik has slipped behind him, catching his wrists together and keeping his shirt bunched up. “On your knees, Xavier,” he growls.

Charles drops.

Erik holds him in place while Pietro and Wanda and Lorna take turns running at him across the room, their tummy’s clashing with his at the apex of the run. Charles wriggles and pretends to hate it. “No, no! Don’t Wanda! Stop Pietro! Et tu Lorna!”

Lorna is smiling so broadly the shape of her face is altered. Wanda is laughing, pure and free tones which ring in Erik’s sternum until he thinks, proudly, ‘That’s success. That’s the best thing I could ever do.’

Pietro pulls Charles out of Erik’s hold and tackles him to the floor. The girls start taking turns to blow raspberries on his tummy. “That’s great teamwork,” Erik tells them. “Nice leadership, Pietro. Good sharing of your victim, Wanda and Lorna.” Charles glares with utter betrayal. Erik just smirks back. “Taught ‘em everything I know,” he says.

“Raven will avenge me,” gasps Charles, in between drooling, vibrating raspberry attacks. “She’ll be so good at tummy battles. She’s going to get you little dinosaurs for this.”

Charles is saved by Lorna, after prolonged torture, who exposes her rounded tummy while taunting, “No pooffle tum.” Two adults and two five year olds take the hint and alternate nuzzling her while she giggles. 

Charles has to go out in the evening but when he comes out from his shower, sliding his wallet into a coat pocket, the entire hoard of Lehnsherr-Maximoff-Danes stop the puzzle they were doing and stare at him. “Chuz fais,” says Lorna, breaking the silence. Raven laughs from her spot on the floor where she is doing calculus homework. 

Charles has shaved the beard clean off. 

“Charles,” says Erik, strangled and desperate, “How old are you?”

Raven laughs even harder. Charles is pink and pissed off. 

“I’m twenty-six,” he says, sniffing.

“Ancient,” adds Raven.

Erik picks up Lorna. “Bedtime little bunny,” he tells her. He passes Charles on the way to the hallway. “You look good,” he says, “really… really good.”

Charles’ posture softens. He is gone when Erik comes back out into the living area.

“Hey Piert,” Erik says, after Lorna is sleeping, “I missed our cuddles this morning.”

Pietro looks like Erik; has the same knowing grin and lank hair. He smugly climbs into Erik’s lap and tucks his head under his dad’s chin. 

Erik intentionally ticks off individual cuddle time in his head each day. He knows, because solo dads have large ‘Tell me what to do’ tattoos on their foreheads, that moms think loving children should be natural, not scheduled in. Erik is not a mom. He can get to the end of the day having frantically served his children’s needs, and still have not spent proper time with them. When he crunched the numbers, and came up with one of him: three of them, he admitted some things just weren’t going to get done. Anyone who thinks Erik is wrong to choose cuddles over ironing can kiss his still impressively taut buttcheeks.

At home, they even have a cuddle routine. Lorna is tactile and falls into his arms at any given opportunity. Erik has to ask Wanda, but she always concedes and snuggles enthusiastically when he does, usually before bed and with a book. 

Pietro comes looking in the morning. Sometimes Pietro finds him still in bed, climbs under the blanket and the shelter of his arm, and Erik doesn’t have to be entirely awake. If Erik is already up, he makes a point of sitting on the floor, at Pietro's height, no matter what he’s doing. It worries him that Pietro continues to seek him out with a panicked expression until he sees his dad hasn’t gone.

Sometimes they are late for school because Erik won’t turn away cuddles if they are being offered. One day Piert will be too old to want them, and maybe one day someone will knock on the door and take them away, while tsking and asking why on earth he thought he deserved to keep them.

Pietro’s little hand is idly stroking Erik’s T-shirt by his ribs. Pietro looks strong and alert, usually, Lorna is sturdy sunshine and Wanda vibrates with will and purpose; but when Erik holds them, he sees all the tiny fragile things about them, the things that could become broken.

He spends the evening reading and cuddling with them. It doesn’t ease his worry, not at all, but it does help him remember, as lost as he feels, he’s still the man who needs to find the way for all of them. 

When Lorna and the twins are in bed and asleep, Erik drinks one of Charles’ beers and sulks.

He’s going to have to accept help from Charles. The knowledge is a stone in his gut. Younger, richer, beloved Charles, who hasn’t made questionable life choices. Erik does not regret his kids, but it hurts to look at the fresh, unspoiled canvas Charles is when Erik’s bright, broad brushstrokes have been covered over with finger paints, glitter and My Little Pony stickers.

It isn’t the first time Erik has been this humbled, but it’ll be the first time anyone bar his Ma’ll see it, and yet, the idea of curling up against Charles is so very tempting. What if… well, he’ll lose his mantilla of pride the second he gets Charles’ assistance tomorrow, what’s a bit more? Erik wants to be like Lorna getting her cuddle earlier; secure and warm.

Resigned, he crawls into Charles’ bed feeling ashamed and needy and falls asleep on his front with his head under Charles’ pillow. He hasn’t slept in that position since he was twelve and he’d just held his Mama up through the ceremony at his Pa’s graveside.


	5. Dressed up all in blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there my darlings, I am so sorry this is taking so long. I thought when the baby (mine, not Lorna) was released from hospital over Christmas, stuff'd go back to normal but, apparently, there is a new normal which includes physio, audiology testing, MRIs, hearing aids, sign language and so on. This story is rough draft written so it will be continued until completion but I may be sloth-like in it's delivery. Meanwhile, I greatly appreciate all of you the reading it, sticking with it, commenting and giving kudos. You lot are awesome.
> 
>  
> 
> xxx

Tony Stark has hired a famous TV chef for this dinner party and there are monstrous towers of food in unrecognizable formats. Charles’ carrots are liquid, in spherical sacks that burst open like egg yolk when he pokes them. His venison is in strips and has been braided with strands of dehydrated boysenberry and salted liquorice. The wine is immaculately matched, not that Tony strays from scotch, but Charles appreciates many, many glasses of many grape varieties. 

He’s seated next to a blushing, young undergrad who interns at Stark Lab. Charles introduces himself and the lad’s brown eyes widen. “Oh I know, Mr Xavier…”

“Call me Charles, please,” he pleads.

“Charles,” is the reverent response. “I’m studying under Osborn, but I’m hoping to take a paper with Dr Kinross. That’s who you TA for, right?”

They talk shop and eat the purported food. Peter is a delight: smart and charmingly self deprecating, and asking intricate questions on the work Charles is doing with Moira. Their discussion lasts past three courses and before the topic is exhausted, Charles is poking inquisitively at a trapeze of a dessert, a structure of sugar sticks with saccharine creations swinging off it. The guests are provided with chopsticks to grasp each dangling bite.

“... on Friday, if that works for you,” Peter is saying.

Charles stares at him.

“Like on a date,” Peter expands.

“…with me,” Peter continues, “We could go on a date together.”

“Oh.”

Peter has gone bright red. “Or not,” he mumbles.

Charles’ inherent compassion pulls him together. “Sorry, I was just… stunned, because of some incredibly poor timing. I just started something with someone last night, I think, I hope anyway.”

Peter grins at Charles, his whole face crinkles with it. “Oh cool. No that… that makes sense then. Your brain is incredibly attractive, as well as your face, so… y’know, I really meant it.”

Charles laughs. “Thank you, Peter.”

After all the courses, and all the wine, the gathering of people spreads around the living areas and balconies. The loss of his beard is odd. Charles keeps pulling at his chin.

“Hey bub,” says a big man with really nice smile lines and impressively high hair, “Tony asked me to ‘fetch you’, as if you were a Frisbee and I was his fuckin’ Labrador. I was a bit pissed about it but, now that I’ve seen ya, I’m kinda hoping he’ll toss ya back to me after you’ve had your chat.”

“I beg your pardon?” squeaks Charles, following and trying to match his long gait.

“You’re a tasty morsel,” says Big Hair, raking Charles with his leer, “much more fulfilling than that artistic crap we were served at dinner.”

“That’s offensive,” Charles informs him.

“And flattering,” adds Big Hair, unimpeded by Charles’ opinion.

“But mainly, offensive,” insists Charles.

The man shrugs. He halts near a floor to ceiling curtain. “I’m Logan, if you change your mind,” he says, and winks at Charles. His arms are as big as Charles’ not-to-be-disregarded thighs.

“Okay,” says Charles, tired. “I’m Charles.”

“Yeah, I know,” says Logan. He walks off.

Tony calls out from behind the curtain. “Xavier! Stop dicking around.”

“Sorry your majesty,” returns Charles, strolling around the drapes with his hands in his suit pockets. 

Tony is lounging on a sofa, but hologram blueprints are rotating above the coffee table and Tony’s shirt sleeves are rolled up, his jacket missing. Charles loves the buzz of Tony’s brain, it sparks frequently and unexpectedly, the feel of it as familiar and constant to Charles as a night light.

“Charles,” Tony drawls, “you never call, you never sext, you never RSVP… It makes me wonder, to what do I owe the outstanding pleasure of your presence?”

Charles sits next to Tony and steals scotch from his tumbler. “I was in the neighbourhood,” he tells his old friend.

Tony scoffs. “You shaved. Whaddya want, mind-bend?” 

“If I asked very nicely, would you have a structural engineering position available in this office of your enterprise?” 

Tony hums happily, dragging Charles onto his lap, “How nicely are you asking?”

Charles huffs and removes Tony’s hands from his arse. “Not that nicely, Stark. Maybe ‘switching my vote on the shipping issue’ level nicely.”

“Deal,” says Tony, pushing Charles off him again, “Almost as good, I suppose. Who am I employing?”

“Erik Lehnsherr from Frost Corp. I actually don’t know if he’ll take the job, but he needs options.”

“Or you need him to have options,” Tony corrects, slyly.

“Maybe,” admits Charles, stealing more scotch.

“So, no more of this booty in the board room?” queries Tony, rubbing Charles’ butt again. “No more charity event boredom busters in the bathroom?”

“We haven’t done that for ages,” points out Charles.

“I live in hope,” insists Tony, and Charles knows better to believe him. “Go back to the party and bring him in tomorrow. I’ll win him over for you.” Tony winks. Charles rolls his eyes.

Charles is accosted by Logan as he makes his way back to the bar. Logan hands Charles a scrap of paper with several numbers on it. 

“Look Charles,” he says, “I’m not good at being charming, or even polite really, but I’m good at spotting quality. And you are top quality. That’s my number if you would give me a second chance.”

He gives a wistful half smile as he leaves. Charles thinks about how safe he’d feel in those big uncomplicated arms and he sighs before inconspicuously letting the paper float to the floor. The bartender pours him a nice single malt and Charles turns to see who else he needs to make nice with.

“Excuse me,” says someone, touching Charles’ shoulder unobtrusively. Charles looks up, and up again, into a very handsome, if innocuous, face. It features blue eyes that are polite with concern, smooth, pale skin and gentle red lips. Red, White and Blue stiffens and slowly lets out a breath as he gazes appreciatively at Charles. “You dropped something,” he explains, twisting over to pick something up off the ground. Charles stares for an inappropriate length of time at an unbelievable butt. When Red, White and Blue stands up he has the number covered piece of paper in his fingers. Charles goes pink and darts a glance at Logan’s retreating back. Red, White and Blue says, “Oh,” his pretty lips spreading into an endearing smirk, as the concern in his expression is rapidly replaced with glee. “My mistake,” he says, “it’s just rubbish.” He scrunches up the paper and tosses it without taking his eyes off Charles, grinning when they hear it ting into a champagne bucket. He extends his hand, and now his smile is frankly dazzling. “I’m Steve. What’s your name?”

Charles tells him while shaking his offered hand. His handshake is firm and hot, and it feels like the start of a story. Charles smiles despite himself. He can tell this ideal package houses an even more impressive character.

“Wow,” says Steve, openly ogling Charles’ mouth, “if you wanted some paper with a phone number on it, I could provide one.”

And Charles is disconnected from his body, looking down at himself saying no to Red, White and Blue, a perfect being who manages to look disappointed and warm at the same time. The craziness of his evening has Charles start to giggle. “Oh my… You’re the third person tonight... if I don’t count Tony,” he explains.

“No one counts Tony,” Steve assures him.

Charles continues, “The day after I kissed someone.”

“Someone special?” Steve asks, longingly.

Charles sighs his laugh to a close, and confesses, “I really hope so.”

Steve laughs. He has a fond and enthusiastic manner that lights Charles up and makes him feel safe enough to be honest. “Isn’t that always the way,” Steve says. “Nice to meet you, Charles.”

“You too,” he tells Steve, and means it.

All in all, Charles is sure, it’s time to extricate himself from this spider-web and run home to safety.

He comes home to find Erik in his bed. So much for safety.

He spends some time doing a slapstick-like, indecisive shuffle. The semi-dark is shot through with blue, perpendicular graphics, a sure sign the wine from dinner is still directing Charles’ perception. Should he sleep on the couch? The softly lighted contours of Erik’s exposed back are a mystery Charles wants to solve, damn him for being gorgeous. What about the kids; won’t Lorna need her daddy? Erik is sleeping here for a reason. Charles dithers the entire time he’s in the bathroom changing and brushing his teeth.

Eventually he is convinced he can provide Erik with support without taking advantage, so he slips under the covers and angles himself toward Erik’s splayed body. Charles can smell him, it’s familiar and, yet, inflaming. Charles deliberately tucks his nose under his hand and sleeps. 

And then he’s stiffly awake and the bedside clock states 3:40am and Erik is kissing his neck. Erik’s movement are determined and desperate. He’s reaching for something, and Charles really wants to give it to him. 

“Erik?”

“Charles,” says Erik, and he is spiky and defensive. 

‘Crap,’ thinks Charles, split in indecision. He wants to say no and nobly sleep on the couch. No scrap that, he doesn’t want that at all. He wants to pretend someone forgot to schedule a day in the calendar for tomorrow and tear Erik’s shorts off. He wants to make Erik promise to stay. If he talks, Erik will back away; if he doesn’t it all might topple over tomorrow.

“Why?” he asks, finally.

Erik huffs, “Okay, bad idea.”

“No, no it’s not but… I mean I hoped but…. I turned down those guys tonight…”

Erik sits up and the blanket falls back. There’s just enough light from the bedside clock and the city lights through the blinds that Charles can see and he’s transfixed by Erik’s torso. Even under Erik’s sloppy dad clothes, Charles could make out a good frame. Now is it all revealed, sinuous crevices and hard muscles like a rock face shifting shape under persistent rivulets over centuries. Erik has on loose, cotton boxers which have been dragged down on one side in his sleep to expose one sweet, smooth dip and a slight frame of dark hairs.

“Fuck,” Charles says, shaking his head to get sober fast. “Fuck.”

Erik straddles Charles and hums. “Those other guys… aren’t here.” He puts one hand on Charles’ throat and licks a complete line from Charles’ chin to his ear, where he whispers, “I am.”

Charles shudders. The voice, that teenaged Charles followed into the battle for mutant rights, is now husky and seductive in his ear.

Erik kisses him. Charles lets out a feeble squeak of protest and clutches reflexively at Erik’s hips. Erik kisses so well, Charles can feel everything, has gone from inebriated numbness to feeling both the tiniest tingles on the arch of his foot to the searing heat that is consuming all of him. He opens his mouth and reaches his tongue to Erik’s.

Erik says, “Yes,” and rocks against him.

Charles says, “Bugger, you’re on my bladder and now I really need to piss. God, I drank a lot.”

Erik laughs and gets off him. “Useless,” he teases, “Get some water while you’re up, will you?”

Charles stumbles out to the bathroom and relieves himself with his face against the cool tile of the wall. He gave Raven the bedroom that has the en suite and doesn’t regret it when he sees the disaster area it usually is. 

He is in the kitchen, locating a bottle of water, when he hears a plaintive, “Papa?”

“It’s Charles, sweet baby. Do you need your Papa?” He crosses the living room where the rays of street lamp light dissect the blackness, and kneels in front of Wanda.

“I’m thirsty,” she tells him, leaning forward and resting her head on his shoulder, halfway back to sleep. She has brown hair. It almost matches his in colour. Charles touches it and a clanging sense of ownership reverberates through him, shockingly invasive in the night silence. His skin crawls with the desire to be important to her, to have her look at him the same way Raven used to when she was little and hadn’t figured out Charles was too stubborn to be cool and too earnest to be exhilarating.

Charles gives her some of the water he was taking back to the room, screws the bottle’s lid on tightly, and scoops her up and against his chest. When he gets to the guest room, Lorna is snoring softly and Pietro is sleeping, mouth open and his foot jerking reflexively over the side of the mattress. Charles starts to lower Wanda to the bed but her hand twines in his T-shirt and she lets out a soft yelp. Her eyes, startled open, are negative space, Charles can’t escape them.

“Shhh darling, go back to sleep,” he whispers. She just blinks at him and continues to stare. His heart turns over, like despair and hope racing round the curve of a track at the same time. He smiles, “Okay, tuck in with me then?”

Wanda nods, and her eyes drift trustingly closed.

Erik looks up when he steps through the door. 

“Look who I found,” Charles says, sheepishly. 

“She’s letting you… ” says Erik. He sits up, peers at her wonderingly. “She looks like such a baby.”

He lifts the blankets to make space for her between them. Charles places her in the middle of the bed and crawls in, offering Erik the water before curling on his side on the edge of his bed. He pushes some of Wanda’s brown hair back from her face. She wriggles, snuggling back where she was, head on his bicep and hand in his shirt. She is curved in and he is curved around her. She fits perfectly, a strange mix of vulnerable soft and immovable determination.

“Sorry Erik. I’ve stolen one of your children,” says Charles, only half joking.

Erik frowns. “I’ll fight you,” he warns.

Charles smirks, “Ah, but I’m a veteran at tummy battles now so your victory is no longer certain.”

Erik blurts out a clumsy tangle of laughing and snorting. He smiles brilliantly in the LED light, over Wanda’s head at Charles, and Charles is fucking lost to this relationship. He knows Erik isn’t there yet, and wishes Erik could trust him. Charles thinks somehow they are each more comforted by Wanda’s presence than they would have been if they’d not been interrupted. 

Regardless, Charles is hiring a babysitter in the morning. The kids are cute, but he wants sex. With Erik. Tomorrow. Full stop.


End file.
